o do good to those people whom I should meet here. And,
strange to say, it would appear, that, to do good--to give money to the
needy--is a very good deed, and one that should dispose me to love for
the people, but it turned out the reverse: this act produced in me ill-
will and an inclination to condemn people. But during our first evening
tour, a scene occurred exactly like that in the Lyapinsky house, and it
called forth a wholly different sentiment.

It began by my finding in one set of apartments an unfortunate
individual, of precisely the sort who require immediate aid. I found a
hungry woman who had had nothing to eat for two days.

It came about thus: in one very large and almost empty night-lodging, I
asked an old woman whether there were many poor people who had nothing to
eat? The old woman reflected, and then told me of two; and then, as
though she had just recollected, "Why, here is one of them," said she,
glancing at one of the occupied bunks. "I think that woman has had no
food."

"Really? Who is she?"

"She was a dissolute woman: no one wants any thing to do with her now, so
she has no way of getting any thing. The landlady has had compassion on
her, but now she means to turn her out . . . Agafya, hey there, Agafya!"
cried the woman.

We approached, and something rose up in the bunk. It was a woman haggard
and dishevelled, whose hair was half gray, and who was as thin as a
skeleton, dressed in a ragged and dirty chemise, and with particularly
brilliant and staring eyes. She looked past us with her staring eyes,
clutched at her jacket with one thin hand, in order to cover her bony
breast which was disclosed by her tattered chemise, and oppressed, she
cried, "What is it? what is it?" I asked her about her means of
livelihood. For a long time she did not understand, and said, "I don't
know myself; they persecute me." I asked her,--it puts me to shame, my
hand refuses to write it,--I asked her whether it was true that she had
nothing to eat? She answered in the same hurried, feverish tone, staring
at me the while,--"No, I had nothing yesterday, and I have had nothing to-
day."

The sight of this woman touched me, but not at all as had been the case
in the Lyapinsky house; there, my pity for these people made me instantly
feel ashamed of myself: but here, I rejoiced because I had at last found
what I had been seeking,--a hungry person.

I gave her a ruble, and I recollect being very glad